God who operates beyond time and space, would you mind transforming me back to one year ago this afternoon?

Would you send me back to a time when hope still pushed aside the climate of despair? A time when I didn’t know death’s frigid grasp so well… a time when my body hadn’t yet become companions with various types of pain… a time when we stood on the edge of a possibility which would have brought prosperity for more of my neighbors and a time when hate was not so loud.

Where is this time machine, God? Maybe I would have made some different decisions, spent more time with loved ones, cared for myself in new ways.

I know we cannot travel back, and I know forward through the tunnel is the only path to journey. So give me the peace and strength as the suffocating shadows swallow me as I drive this stretch of road.

And as I reemerge from the tunnels, may your sunlight warm my soul again.

God, it appears that I’m making it. I rise each day, take care of what is needed, find healthy ways to express myself.

So I pass grief with flying colors, right?

Not exactly.

I’ll be fine until I see a photo or have a memory or listen to a song from 1975. I’ll be relaxed until something – like a drive or a conversation – takes me back to that chilly September morning. I’ll be traveling home and the warming sunset reminds me of his love of photographing dusks.

Then my heart shudders with the notion that I won’t see him again on this side of heaven. My brain slides back into a dense fog as it tries to protect my soul from intense feelings of loss. My body aches from the heaviness that comes with this extra emotional weight.

And I am reminded again that grief is always a lifelong journey. Completion of this process doesn’t happen here. It’s not a destination. Overcoming it will never happen. There is nothing to win, and I will not get a medal when surviving.

And yet, I’m making it. Fifteen minutes at a time, God, we are making it. For that unremarkable significant victory, I am grateful.

God who wound nerves throughout our bodies and gave us a “central computer” to connect our mind, body, and spirits, there are patient souls sitting bedside in hospital room chairs wondering and waiting to see if their loved ones will wake up.

These family and friends were just fine a day or two ago… and now they are a shadow of themselves. An accident or illness marred their brain health and function. No matter what words or commands are given, they rest nearly lifeless.

And then there’s waiting… and testing… and waiting more.

For the waiting, we pray for patience. For decisions that may need to be made, we pray for clarity. For losses that may result, we pray for peace.

God, you run with us at our most active. You recline with us at our most unresponsive. No matter the state of our body, our soul is always alongside of you.

Amen.

*****

On September 18, my dad died unexpectedly. In his final days he was unresponsive due to a lack of oxygen to the brain after a cardiac arrest. This prayer was written remembering our needs and knowing other families are facing similar experiences.

God who abides fully in the present,
I keep recalling that moment in my mind.

You know the one – the phone call.
The five thirty am buzzing which jolted me awake,
Wondering why and who and why again as I stirred from sleep.

Deciding I needed to pick it up because five-one-three numbers at five-thirty aren’t wrong numbers.
Thinking that it was him just calling because he was awake in his room,
And for one split second not wanting to deal with an early morning conversation.

For that moment, God, I am deeply sorry.

Oh how now I wish it was dad wanting a five-thirty am phone conversation.
How I would sacrifice an entire night of sleep for that discussion.

How I would rather have heard his voice saying “I just wanted to call” rather than the nurse informing me “his condition has changed.”

How I would have rather heard his voice asking me if I was awake rather than a stranger ask me if I wanted him intubated.

How that moment the last remaining garments of childhood which I still wore my soul stopped fitting. How the tables turned and I was the one who made the decisions about his well being.

How the summertime of my life ended and the gray days of autumn begun. How the warmth of daylight turned into the cold shadows of night.

Yes, God, that moment turned into all of this for me. Innocence lost. Childhood firmly found in the rearview mirror. Daughterhood shifted.

God, there is little you can do for me to change my memory of that moment. But, if you can, fill my soul with a little additional peace each time I remember it.

In time, this moment will lose some of its intense chill. And maybe I’ll find a new level of innocence.

(I’m truly sorry to be so curt. I know you are here. In my mind, I know you are. I keep telling myself this over and over.)

But I must ask: is it grief that has taken a seat between us? Had grief become a wall, a partition that divides me from seeing you?

Then why are you not removing this barrier?

Again I say it: I know you are here. I know you are blanketing me with peace and filling my soul with strength. But from my throne of melancholy, my view is limited.

Shove me off of this throne of despair and may I find a new seat that will reflect your presence. Open my soul as a third eye- one that will see you surrounding me when the wilderness of grief becomes to arid or the swamps of mourning drown my sorrow-filled soul.

Creator of the morning moon,
Painter of the cloudy evening sky,
In this season of abundant nighttimes
And shadows that extend for miles
Our hearts are painted with ash.

We wail in the corners of the world
Wondering when the Merry will come with Christmas,
When the sparkles will return,
And when the light will reappear.
The wound is fresh.
It extends beyond the bone
To the depths of the soul.

Why did it just happen
In this brightened season of hope
When plastic joy is glued to every surface
And smiles are permanently affixed to faces?

Why must we face this Christmas
When we’ve just been cheated?
Why must we be reminded
At every meal we would have eaten with him
And when holding the gift we just bought her?

Why is our future crushed
By the current song on the radio
Or the hymn sung at church?

God, we don’t know how we’ll make it through this hour
Let alone candlelight worship,
Christmas morning expected bliss
Or New Year’s countdowns.

So let us find that sacred spot
Where tears flow freely,
Where weeping and gnashing of teeth are welcomed,
And where we can wear sack cloths,
Or flannel clothes
Or sweats
Or his old t-shirt
And spill our souls to you, God.